Crush
by HexKey
Summary: Steve explores Clint's kinks with Natasha showing him the ropes. Belly Kink. Stomach punching/pressing. Rope Bondage. Consenual Kink. Threesome.
1. Chapter 1

_**Edited on 1/26/2015**. I've reworked chapters 1 &amp; 2 and rewritten chapter 3 as two chapters. The fifth and final chapter is on it's way._

* * *

"Do you want to come try something new tonight?" Natasha asked me after the others had left the training room.

"Something new?" I inquired, wiping away the grit from the split seams of the latest bag.

"Well, new to you."

"There's more?" I asked incredulously, realizing too late how ridiculous I sounded.

She smiled warmly, and I felt like even more of a dope. "There's always more. This one is...just a kink. Took him a while to share it, even with me."

That surprised me; Clint shared almost everything with everybody. How the man could be so good at his job, so silent and patient and yet still rival Tony in his level of over-sharing was always impressive.

Although, now that I thought about it, the man _could_ keep a secret. Even with all the loaded glances, surreptitious caresses and almost-innuendos, he'd never breathed a word or betrayed a hint of the arrangement between the three of us. But I always assumed it was simply the result of a death-threat from Natasha.

She had approached me today in the gym with the same polite seduction she adopted those long months ago. That day, she found me looking out over the skyline in this city that was decidedly not the one I grew up in. She sidled close to me and, tracing idle patterns on my skin with her deft touch, invited me to "visit" her and Clint sometime. Her implication was clear, even to me; I didn't realize how much modern social mores had already infiltrated my consciousness. So much so that her proposal didn't even shock or confuse me.

Or maybe Natasha is just that good; that a few words in that smoky voice of hers could draw me away from what I had considered pretty established parameters and into this arrangement with hardly a backward glance.

Either way, I couldn't get it out of my head. The provocative words kept me up at night and followed me around in my waking hours. I found myself watching her, watching him, and wondering. One afternoon, Clint caught me studying him from behind the book I was hardly even pretending to read, and gifted me with an assessing glance and a sly smirk before returning his attention to his coffee. Natasha brushed against him when she entered the kitchen and took the cup he offered her. She pretended to not even see me as she stirred a generous helping of sugar, slid her spoon in her mouth to taste the sweetness, kissed him extravagantly and sauntered out.

I knocked on their door that night.

So now, several months and lots of nights since, when she said those words with that same dark promise, I knew how to interpret her meaning.

And I understood the intensity in Clint's eyes as he disappeared through the gym's exit. It occurred to me that his haste was to give Natasha time to put this new proposition on the table. I was intrigued; of course I was.

"What's the game?" I asked.

"Clint gets really turned on when you punch or press his stomach."

I blinked. I thought of some of the perverse paraphelias I'd seen on the internet. Once JARVIS set me up with a way to privately _Google_, I'd done a fair amount of research —I thought of if as porn with a purpose. This one was new, and much more appealing than, say, feet or just general pain, and less daunting than some of the more extreme "erotic" tortures I'd stumbled upon.

"That's it?"

"Yes," she confirmed.

I'd noticed the extra attention he paid to my abs and to Natasha's, how she sometimes positioned herself to exert pressure in one way or another on her partner's midsection while we reconfigured ourselves in bed or on the floor. In fact, the strange position she arranged him in last time made a lot more sense; she placed him in such a way that each time I pushed into him, I ground his belly into the back of the chair.

I hadn't understood dominance and submission when we first began; and I still wasn't an adept. Even though we usually played as equals, under Natasha's competent tutelage, I'd found pleasure in bending the cocky, self-assured archer to my will and to watching her do things to him I hadn't even known were possible. I guess I was submitting to them too, after a fashion, but I've always been comfortable taking orders from able leadership so that didn't seem too strange. And I cherished the few times she had submitted to me, even if I didn't demand much from her.

We'd never set out to hurt one another before, but finding pleasure in pain sure seemed like that was the plan tonight. I found my senses humming at the prospect.

"Show me," I said.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Edited 1/26/2015_**_. I've edited chapters 1 &amp; 2 and rewritten chapter 3 as 2 chapters. Fifth and final chapter on its way soon_

* * *

Clint. Tonight was all about Clint. We'd never focused so clearly on him before. They always devoted a lot of attention to me. And, as for Natasha, well, come _on_.

At first, I think they were careful not to push too hard, scrupulous about not making me uncomfortable. She and I had even been together a few times while he was away, but I hadn't been with just Clint for more than a few pre-Natasha minutes.

Well, and that one memorable time in the weapons locker. One afternoon, Clint followed me in to the locker without a word, waved a small device to dampen the cameras and pressed me against the racks in the far corner. When he's not tied to the bed or kneeling at Natasha's feet, he's quite assertive. He kissed me hard for a few minutes, massaging my cock and rapidly coaxing me to impossible hardness while biting short-lived, but intense purple marks on my throat and circling my nipple roughly through my shirt. He dropped to his knees and sucked me off until my legs almost buckled, coming into his palm almost the same time I released down his throat.

He stood up, arranged his clothes, gave me a lingering kiss that tasted like me, and walked away, whistling.

I even found out later that he hadn't turned off the cameras, just rerouted them for Natasha's private viewing.

I smiled fondly at the memory.

Fucking spies.

* * *

Natasha skin glowed pinkly against the bright white of her uncharacteristically demure bra and panty set and her hair swayed in damp curls. Her lips and pupils seemed especially full and her neck bore signs of chaffing from Clint's stubble. A little something to take the edge off.

She dragged me down to her, forcing her mouth against mine. Kissing her like this emphasized how small she is. I know she'd probably kill me if I picked her up, but it's always a temptation. Clint is more evenly matched with her in these terms (well, in any terms, really); he can hold her and kiss her without much bending and when he presses behind her, he can grind against her or relish the curvature of her neck and their bodies aline. She fits well with him.

She intertwined our fingers and tugged me towards the bedroom after indicating for me to shuck my shoes and shirt. "He's been badgering me for a while to show you some of the kinbaku we used to do." she said. I had no idea what kinbaku was, so I filed it away to look up later, but as soon as I entered the room, I decided google had nothing on what lay before me.

Blindfolded, Clint lay on top of the neatly made bed, bound in a loose spread eagle. Intricate rope work made a mosaic of geometric shapes on his upper and lower body, but crisscrossed under his back and across his sides to leave his stomach completely exposed. There was some tension in the ropes that stretched across the back of his neck, but those near his throat merely gave the illusion of tautness, not placing any actual pressure. The bindings looped low across his hips and drew around his already-erect cock such that they would apply gentle pressure as he moved. His legs were tied shoulder width apart, with each ankle affixed to a bed post and more rope patterns between them holding him firmly but not to extremes. His arms were held at less forgiving angles - his chest stretched wide, pectoral muscles and triceps held in sharp relief under his just-scrubbed skin. Several pillows under his back positioned him like this; his torso taut, his abdomen open and canted.

My breath hitched at the sight of him.

"Doesn't he look _amazing_?" She pressed close, dragging her nails across the back of my neck and I nodded wordlessly.

"Wanna play?" she asked, with a quirk of those curvy lips. My mouth went dry at the prospect.

Natasha and I shared an unease with being tied up for sex; it felt too much like some deeply unpleasant real-life scenarios where pleasure, at least not mutual pleasure, had decidedly not been the goal.

Barton didn't seem to share the same reservations or associations, even though I knew for certain he too had found himself at the mercy of a hostile rope. We had tied Clint up a few times before, but never like this, opting for the simplicity of handcuffs or a single length of rope or even a tie. Maybe he was better at compartmentalizing, maybe he used this to clear his head of those bad experiences.

I moved towards him.

"Wait," she said, voice low, "I want to let him sweat it out a while first. I like it if he doesn't know exactly where we are or that you've arrived." I noticed the thin white lines of ear phones trailing across his throat, attached to an iPod. "He can't hear us. I like the uncertainty." She smiled almost guiltily.

He breathed slowly and deliberately, obviously trying to master himself. His smooth stomach rolling with each breath. He seemed to be almost unconsciously testing his bonds; subtle shifts in the tension of each muscle.

"He's talked about this for a while; in fact, he used to fantasize about this out loud even before we asked. Did you know that? That Clint is the one who wanted to pursue you? He was crushing on you for months before I finally convinced him to let me ask you."

My face heated at the unexpected revelation.

"Seriously?" she continued, "you are _blushing_. About _that_?"

I shrugged and felt the redness deepen. "Months," I cleared my throat, "really?"

She nodded. "Especially since that training session...".

I remembered the one; Clint tagged me pretty hard in the head. In that moment of disorientation, I misjudged and slammed a punch directly into his midsection. I'd wanted him to go to medical, I'd hit him so hard. Suddenly, I wondered if he'd taken the blow intentionally. I found that thought...distasteful.

"It was an accident," she added, sensing my discomfort. "He wanted you before, but after that..."

I still wasn't sure how I felt about it. "Well, um, good. I thought I really hurt him."

"You did, kind of. His stomach was bruised for a week. He said it even hurt to bend to put on his socks."

"Oh, man," I said. I still felt pretty badly about it.

"Are you kidding? He _fucking loved _it. Even though it was more work for me. He said it hurt too much to do more than just lay there. But eventually, I think he was just milking it."

Still in silent darkness, he endured and she continued to talk about him. I began to reconsider my opinions of some forms of bondage, but I didn't think I would want anyone to do it to me, certainly not for the purpose of letting someone hit me.

He worked his face around for a second; his nose itched.

Natasha flinched, probably in response to her impulse to offer him some relief before catching herself and crossing her arms over her chest.

"You can leave him like..._ that_," I gestured to his erection, "but you can't let him have an itch."

She glared briefly at me, before conceding the point.

"Ready?" she asked.


	3. Chapter 3

**Edited on 1/26/2015**. I've reworked chapters 1 &amp; 2 and rewritten chapter 3 as two chapters. The fifth and final chapter is on it's way.

* * *

She glided silently to the side of the bed. He shifted, sensing her proximity and seemed to fight his inclination to tense when she rested one knee on the bed by his hip. I wondered if she was going to just strike, to smash a hard blow in the center of his body and I found myself holding my breath in anticipation along with her victim.

Instead, she pressed slowly, the flat of her palm, the heel of her hand, alternating, pushing his navel towards his spine, his breath kneaded out in a soft sigh.

I realized how careful I was going to have to be; she's strong, sure, but she probably couldn't unintentionally cause him serious injury. I could miscalculate and deal him a crushing, fatal blow pretty easily. I have to be careful whenever I'm in contact with other "normal" humans all the time, but deliberately pushing into his abdomen as Natasha was doing was risky. Punching might just be tempting fate. Knowing Clint, the danger of my strength was probably part of the thrill, but I knew I shouldn't do this.

Then, he made the most delicious sound I've ever heard, a deep, throaty moan and writhed when she could go no deeper. Unconsciously, my hand drifted to my own cock and I wanted to hear him make a noise like that under me.

Natasha seemed to sense my unspoken conflict: "Just be careful; go slow. Don't be too hard up here or here." She indicated near his liver and spleen and then pressed her palm a little above his navel. "Lower is better if you are going deep or fast. He knows his limits. And he's pretty easy to please. I throw a few punches, I have this," she said, gesturing to the flogger on the nightstand, " but it's mostly this." With that, she made a fist with her knuckles extended and pushed down hard on his lower belly.

She dislodged one of the earbuds, "He knows he's not allowed to flex. Do what you want; he won't complain. He learned his lesson about topping from below a long time ago." She tugged on his hair, pulling his head aside, but not hard. Playfully. Fondly. He smirked and she released his hair and replaced the earbuds.

Damn. I would have _really_ liked to have witnessed **_that_** lesson.

She indicated that I should join her on his other side. I walked slowly around the bed, taking in the view from different angles.

He sensed the change as I sat on the bed and then curved his spine up to meet her new incursion and then falling back when she withdrew. "Hi, Steve," he said, his voice roughened with lust. My name bled into a stuttering moan as she pressed both fists deep into his body and swept upward towards his ribs, holding his breath hostage with the pressure.

When she finally let him breathe again, Natasha snatched one of the ear buds, "No talking," she chastised, before reinserting it once more. She produced a flogger with a long, leather-wrapped handle and laid a few stinging lines across his chest as he pulled against the ropes.

Reorienting her grip, she shoved the broad handle of the implement deep into his navel. I felt my eyes widen at the display; it was exactly what she had described but seeing the object sink in unresisted accompanied by his groan felt unexpectedly erotic.

He licked his lips, swallowed hard and then gasped when she pushed the handle into a seemingly random spot to the upper right of his navel. The breath whistled through his clenched teeth and he strained against his bindings.

"Acupressure point," she explained, and let him rest a moment as the tension ebbed from his limbs. His provocative sigh snagged in my chest and I knew I'd be hearing echoes of it for weeks whenever I heard him speak over the comm channel. I could never decide which of my two lovers had the sexier voice; Natasha with her liquid, sex-kitten perfection or Clint's easy drawl that blended gruff and soft with a palpable sensuality.

She lay the handle laterally across his waist and drove it down, dividing his body impossibly until he uttered a wordless plea for both reprieve and for intensification. Her quiet chuckle of indulgence blended with his ravaged respiration and I put aside the question of which voice I found more appealing and just absorbed them.

"What do you want, Clint?" she said his name like an erotic incantation. I watched her lips form the words, tasting them in my parched mouth. Clint also looked dry as he gasped. Natasha interpreted our unspoken need, the cadence of the simple words tantalizing and indecent. "Water? Are you thirsty, Clint? Do you want water?"

I opened a nearby bottle in shaking hands and held to his lips before taking a long pull myself, acutely aware of the cold liquid pooling in my stomach. Natasha waved the water away and licked her lips with her quick, pink tongue.

"Your turn, Captain," she said, wrapping my title in the same alluring implication.


	4. Chapter 4

**Edited on 1/26/2015**. I've reworked chapters 1 &amp; 2 and rewritten chapter 3 as two chapters. The fifth and final chapter is on it's way.

* * *

Natasha offered the flogger to me, but I demured, not ready to start probing Clint's belly quite so deeply. I ran the pads of my fingers in increasingly larger circles, applying gentle pressure and getting a feel for his responses. He shifted uncomfortably when I brushed along a particularly wicked scar that tore along his left side above his hip and when my fingers skated over the tender places Natasha had indicated. I returned my attention to the contours defining his abs, adding a few licks and kisses.

I stroked his stomach, leading with a deep pressing sweep. His eyelids fluttered in pleasure and he groaned contendly. Encouraged, I began to explore, first by rubbing and then penetrating with my thumbs before moving up to pressing my knuckles in and finally to slow jabs with increasing force. His relaxed abs were exquisite and responsive and I found surprising gratification not only in his enthusiastic reactions, but also the just the feel of him.

My first genuine punch took him by surprise. His involuntary attempt to repel the blow failed and he coughed and spasmed several times before regaining control enough to laugh and shake it off with a satisfied whoop, dislodging the blindfold in the process.

He glanced over at Natasha with an smug expression I translated as, _see, what did I tell you? _

She returned him a raised eyebrow as if to say, _don't overdo it, hot shot_, before tugging the blindfold back into place.

He tensed, exhaled and bounced his abs to indicate he was ready to go again. I absolutely preferred the controlled tactility, but his exhilaration when I struck a blow made up for the stress and I continued to probe and punch.

Sometimes, I followed an impact by holding my fist still to press that hollowed-out, desperate feeling down into him. I twisted around, rotating my wrist when the punch was fully seated, enjoying the sensation of his yielding surrender. He'd bite his lip like he was trying to hold onto the pain but eventually it would escape in a panting exhalation or moan.

Other times, I'd immediately release and the stroke the pain away in a series of rapid caresses, his guts shifting as I smoothed furrows in his pliant muscles and over his rigid chest and straining arms. The gasps he made were varied and thrilling, made more so since many were muffled against my own mouth. I kissed him, tasting the different noises; my lips ranging over his mouth and throat.

I tried pulsing a series of staccato jabs and he arched and twisted and bit back a few pleas and curses. The intense sharp pains seemed a counterpoint to the dull deep ache I had been lavishing on him.

I also pressed kisses to his torso; soothing caresses of my lips and tongue and lingering with my teeth, tugging at the taut skin until he shuddered and strained at his ropes. His powerful chest jerked so violently when I bit on his nipple and then swirled my tongue across it that the bed frame protested with a sharp creak.

While I worked, Natasha watched her partner for any sign of distress. Her pupils dilated, her lips flushing crimson and her breasts painfully hard points, but she watched with an equal mixture of avid fascination and careful monitoring. I had no doubt that she was more accurately reading his condition as any medical device. Not that any of the impacts were very swift or hard; but she wasn't trusting Clint's well-being to my inexperience or his dubious sense of self-preservation.

Natasha had explained that when they played, sometimes it started out as an endurance test; how long could he withstand her assault before she eroded his control and he could no longer prevent the blows from sinking in. I thought about her skillful fists and feet thudding off his muscular body. While that sounded athletic, I couldn't imagine it was half as erotic as this yielding, gasping, precarious game we were playing.

The throaty rumble of his moans slowly evolved into a series of breathy, strained pants and keens. I continued to smooth my hands over him, his skin impossibly warm, but stopped thrusting into him.

"Please...don't stop," he begged, his voice edged as he arched against his bonds.

I explored the perimeter of his belly, trying to find areas I hadn't already worked, but his most satisfying reactions remained when I returned to the middle of his stomach. I kneaded the perspiring skin, alternating short, shallow presses under his ribs and near his hips with long deep ones on his navel and lower where the trail of sandy hair began to thicken.

Natasha slipped from the bed and silently ended this part of the game by removing his blindfold and ear buds. Clint blinked slowly as his eyes adjusted and then watched with a steady, burning intensity as she undressed me. She pressed close behind me and twined her arms around me. Her hands roamed on my chest for a moment before dragging her nails across my stomach, deftly removing my belt and undoing my fly. I stepped out of my pants and boxers, my legs faltering a bit as she squeezed me and my erection twitched against her.

She looped and unfurled the belt, grasping the buckle and testing the snap of worn heavy leather.

"For talking," she said simply to Clint. Instead of the scattered lines of the flogger, she applied the belt in bright stripes of pain across his stomach. He arched up off the bed, pulling tightly against his bonds.

When she offered the belt back to me, I took it, but not to discipline him. He remained in that stretched position, his hips thrust skyward. I quickly snaked the belt under him and centered it, passing the tail of the strap through the broad buckle.

I started to slide the belt tight around his waist, his stomach protesting the constriction with a gurgling rumble that was silenced when the hasp caught. He moaned and shifted as if he could lessen the stricture by moving away from it.

Placing my hand just above the base of his cock, I urged him to lower his hips back on the bed. He looked at me, glassy-eyed, lips parted. I leaned down to kiss him, one hand brushing his damp hair from his forehead, the other running a slow ascent along his length. He groaned my name against my lips.

"You, no talking," she slapped his shoulder but made no move for the flogger. "And you, no touching," she ordered in the same cool voice and guided my hand away. He chased the loss with another needy moan.

"Would you like it if I fucked you like this?" I whispered, my lips inches from his ear, registering the apprehensive flick of his blue-grey eyes. My palm rested on his hip, the bone made prominent. He opened his mouth to answer before nodding silently. "It would hurt. Could you take it, do you think?" He nodded vigorously, but an involuntary groan of pain escaped when he tried to inhale. "I could loosen the ropes, lift your knees and fuck you in half. Should I?" He swallowed hard, perspiration highlighting the hollow of his throat, and then shook his head. No, this was too much, too tight, too risky.

Natasha agreed with him, her index finger stroking the pale line that divided his reddened skin and the dark leather, indicating for me to take the belt off him. Clint tried to suck in a deep breath but was prevented from filling his lungs by the direct pressure on his diaphragm. I could see he was reaching his limits; both with the belt squeezing his stomach and how much longer he could endure. I had to pull the belt tighter in order to remove it and I worried that I had really hurt him but he looked dazed and exhilarated. His sigh of relief was tinged with disappointment and he rolled his hips against the bonds, which tugged at his erection, making it sway.

The belt still slung under him, I repositioned him by lifting his lower back off the mattress as high as the kinbaku would allow, stretching weakened flesh and reducing his navel to a thin slash. The ropes continue to manipulate his aching cock as he moved. The glistening tip nudged against me as I held either side of the belt and I imagined refastening the buckle, cinching it tight enough to stop his breath. I thought about parting his thighs and grinding into him while he struggled, the sensation of him squeezing me impossibly hard as his body fought for oxygen. I imagined the heady rush and the desperation of coming before he suffocated.

I felt flushed, more excited than I'd ever been at the thought of hurting another person simply for my own pleasure. I realized that this act was going to join a catalog of other shadowy images; things I would never do, but would file away in a dark corner of my mind to bring out and examine in secret.

Clint chewed his lip and glanced at his partner. I realized he thought he'd disappointed me. I eased him back to the bed and kissed him, warm and breathless. I stroked his cock, extorting a mixture of shuddering groans and helpless little pleas. He broke the kiss to study my face and I smiled wryly at his wide, dilated eyes and expectant, needy expression.

"Maybe I'll just lay Tasha right on top of your stomach and let you watch me fuck her. How about that?" I planted a hot kiss on his mouth and then found Natasha looking at me hungrily.

* * *

_so, maybe just a little review? Even an anonymous one? _


	5. Chapter 5

_This probably needs one more good edit, but I really wanted to drop this in the can before I see the movie tomorrow. (squee!) So, um yeah. enjoy!_

* * *

Natasha pulled my mouth to hers, drawing my lip between her teeth. She pushed me away after a moment, and straightened up on the bed. She resumed kissing me, hotly, exhibition as much the focus as sensation as we both loomed tall over Clint. Dragging her mouth across my skin, her nails from my cheek to my collarbone, her breasts against my chest. It wasn't until Clint made a strangled groan that I realized her knee was buried directly in his navel and that each of our subtle movements ground deeply into his stomach.

I slid my hand slowly down her body, resting on her hip before nudging her panties aside and prodding her gently. She twisted in a seemingly involuntary movement and her supporting leg trembled when I brushed her clit, extorting a stuttering moan from Clint as the leg that pressed into him bore more of her weight.

Ruthlessly, I began to strum against her and inside her, kissing her and stroking until her lips went still and her body stiffened and surged. She came without a sound, her nails biting into my hip and shoulder. Clint had also fallen silent at this display, watching us with a fathomless longing, tension furrowing his face as he rode out the waves of her climax.

Painfully hard now, my every muscle tensed when she wrapped her hand around me, exerting some pressure before slowly drawing her grip along my shaft and swirling her palm around the head.

She slid back and urged me to take her place, one hand on the back of my thigh, the other inexorably on my cock. My eyes squeezed shut and I let her guide me, hesitating when Clint's stomach offered almost no resistance. His defined muscles compressed when I repositioned and my knee sank into the warm flesh, torn between caution and arousal, feeling his heart beat surging under me.

A momentary look of panic crossed his face; with my dense physiology, I'm much heavier than I look. I shook my head and moved back to the bed. I found that pulse-point again with my fingers and bore down but not with the same brutal force.

I bent and kissed him; his breathing, restricted by the pressure I was exerting, stuttered in his throat and became a groan. I stared into his eyes, mere inches away, and landed another blow, deep and hard. Watching the shock flare in his blue irises, my mind drifted back to the earlier vision of holding his breath hostage to my whim.

Natasha lay on her side, flicking back and forth across the thin fabric stretched taut over her nipple. I pushed up, still braced on his abdomen and used him for leverage. He tried to tense but his strength failed and he chuckled and coughed as his soft stomach yielded under me.

At a gesture, Natasha did as I bade, sealing her lips to Clint's and lavishing the same showy attention she'd given me. As I moved away, she slid closer, deepening the kiss and eventually crawling right on top of him.

She stretched out, her thighs clamped against his cock. They kissed more languidly for a moment before she rested her forehead on his and stared into his dilated, slightly-unfocused eyes. They remained like that for another half-minute, sharing the breath I had fantasized about stealing from him and reconnecting after she had handed control of this very private pleasure over to me.

It was one of those awkward moments where I felt every bit the third that I knew I was. Awkward for me—that is; I don't think they realize when they disappear into each other like this. I knew this was the Clint-and-Natasha show, occasionally featuring Steve Rogers.

Natasha saw my uncertainty and pulled me back in by demurely lowering her lashes and asking, "now what, Captain?"

I encircled her slim waist and drew her back against me and was pleased with myself when I managed to unhook and remove her chaste white bra with one hand. I hugged her close, as my fingers brushed the scar near her hip and descended lower still.

She craned her neck to kiss me, her mouth twitching convulsively and growing slack when delved into her with two fingers and cradled her clit against my thumb.

Exercising the control she was clearly giving me, I gently but inexorably bent her forward. Every muscle in Clint's body tensed when her lips enveloped his cock. Each line under the red skin over his abs jumped into sharp relief, his chest and arms stressed the ropes and his legs quivered. He groaned and sighed as she swallowed his length and pressed back wantonly against my hand.

The perfect split-peach outline of her in that position seared into my mind. I coaxed a few tremors from her but mostly watched her lithe movements with the same desperation Clint had evinced. Finally, when I couldn't endure it any longer, I reached into the bedside drawer for a condom. Natasha noticed my impatience and decided our next position before I could.

Clint whimpered when she released him with one final caress of her tongue and shifted around. He choked in surprise as she positioned herself with her ass cradled between his ribs and his pelvis. He flicked his eyes up to mine with that mocking half-smile of his; the knowing one he'd flash me in secret as we went about our daily lives. Natasha may be the seductress, but he is ever the flirt.

"Isn't this how you said you wanted to fuck me, Steve?" she asked me coquettishly, her knees wide, her toes curled on the edge of the bed.

Clint was arched back, his eyes closed, braced and ready for the final act of this scene. She shifted around, his belly yielding to her every movement as the two of them waited, inviting me to come complete the tableau.

I knelt between her calves, trying to sort out the mechanics of a way that would not crush Clint under our combined weight. That didn't seem to be a concern of his. He trusted us, trusted me.

Snaking her hands behind my neck, she watched as I quickly rolled the condom on and entered her. I sighed in delirious ecstasy as her warmth penetrated the latex barrier and it seemed to dissolve into the sensation of her.

She braced her hands on the bed, her body on display, her breasts swaying and her brows knitting. Her head fell back, baring her pale throat. A deep flush crept up it with each insinuation as I supported myself on his chest and on the bed between his legs. It took every ounce of my control to find the balance between satisfaction and safety.

"Steve..._Please_..." Clint begged, _begged_ in that _voice_. The words breathy and constrained.

"Please _what_?" I asked quietly, wanting to hear the desperation in his voice when he asked. "Tell me what you want."

"I want to..." He closed his eyes while he chose his words. "I wanna feel you two..."

Natasha smirked and flicked her gaze up to mine, an unreadable blend of daring and encouragement. I almost said a prayer, decided I was kind of on my own on this one and snapped my hips, thrusting into her with as much force as dared. Clint's huff of shock, pain and satisfaction told me this was exactly what he wanted and Natasha squeezed me to urge me on.

I relaxed into the sensation, wave after wave, her body, his body, my body, current flowing through us from me to her and into him. Natasha's gasping moans broke into a litany of Russian—a few promises and threats I recognized, but mostly an incomprehensible babble. Her vociferous pleas almost drowned out his breathy gasps as I pounded her into him, driving her into his stomach deeper and harder than I had my fists.

I maintained a slow relentless pace until she raked my shoulder with her nails and groaned a string of syllables that might have been _jesusfuckingstevechristclintgodohgod-YES_. At this alluring, obscene invocation, I followed her into oblivion and felt my brain melt as every one of my enhanced systems shut down under this most base onslaught.

Natasha fell back, limp and sated until Clint's pleading moan shook off her languor. I had collapsed onto the bed beside him and pressed close, wanting to feel him break under her. Natasha arched with cat-like grace and took him in, skin to skin, sighing and then laughing her throaty laugh at his convulsive tug at the ropes as he tried in vain to reach for her.

She began to insinuate herself against him, rolling her hips, grinding her center against him and soothing his mottled, bruised belly with gentle fingers. He stared at her with dumbfounded gratitude and naked devotion. He looked like he wanted to say something but for once, words failed him. I became absorbed in their slow movements, completely transfixed by their union, feeling nothing like an awkward third.

Clint, teased and tormented as he had been, seemed to be fighting with himself to prolong each moment, biting his lip and watching her every subtle expression. He succumbed only after Natasha's pace lost some of her measured rhythm and the promise of her impending orgasm prompted him to relent.

When she came this final time, there was no frenzied, multilingual tirade, just a soft _oh! _and stuttered moan as she rested a hand on his chest. Still wordless, he rippled with a series of sharp spasms followed by a curse or two and a low contented groan. He turned his head and rested his forehead against my temple and smiled muzzily against my throat.

She ran her other hand through her damp hair and drew it down over her face. When she shook it back, the vulnerability was gone and her confident teasing returned. She looked at the two of us, replete and sweaty. "You boys aren't done, are you?"

"Jesus, woman," Clint sighed. He gasped as another small aftershock echoed through him.

"Poor baby," her pout mocked, "how tired can you be? You've just been laying there."

"Take off the ropes," he challenged, "I'll show you how tired I am." I felt his bicep flex beneath the back of my neck. He tried the bonds around his legs, but ceased with a groan as soon as the motion reverberated through his abdomen. I regarded him with concern until I perceived his amused, satisfied expression.

Despite their complex appearance, she made short work of the knots. Clint stretched and rubbed the white lines where the ropes had blanched his skin. He folded forwarded to release his ankles, muffling a delirious moan when his aching stomach protested.

"We gotta find Steve's secret kink now," Clint declared, rubbing the back of his neck thoughtfully and considering me.

"Don't hold your breath," I said, blushing at the phrase and at the thought of the seeds already germinating in my head. "I'm done in. I was at the gym even longer than you two. Not too tired to watch, though." I shifted around, dropping a kiss on his shoulder before sliding to a corner of the bed and reaching to stroke her spine.

Natasha scoffed, playfully evading my caress. "You'll be up and playing again in 10 minutes."

Clint muttered something that sounds like "fucking super soldier..." before Natasha stole the rest of his thought and his breath with her kiss.

* * *

_I think that's it for now. Would love to know what you think._


End file.
